(Phan) Pity Partying
by falloutnoire
Summary: I've paid enough to have great experiences, but maybe all the payment didn't matter at all, because he's dead and I have no motivation to make my bones dance to the ecstatic and lovesick songs his body radiated.


**Dan Howell -1861**

 **Prologue**

 _"The beats started to play,_

 _So did our game,_

 _As our steamy breaths replaced words,_

 _Swirling just like our twisted minds,_

 _Oh, Oh, Oh,_

 _I started to realize that you'd live,_

 _But our mem-ries would fade away,"_ I sang into the microphone, switching my fingers on my guitar from chord G to Cadd6.

As for the crowd, they were rocking, jumping like nothing ever happened to them, like we weren't fragile souls ready to break into pieces when left unattended. Their hair raging from black, blonde, black being dyed for a few moments by the lights the stage provided them.

And for a moment I felt just like the crowd, I was indifferent to my past and to my future as sweat began to trail itself down my spine making me realize just how hot it was exactly in this basement, because for fuck's sake, all that mattered now was; I was singing to a bunch of fans that loved my band's music and that I was pouring out my unworthy emotions through my words, passing them around and into the delicate, innocent hearts that are in the same condition as mine.

 _["Hey, hey, Dan," He asked._

 _"Yeah, love?" I grinned, he was so cute._

 _"If I wanted you to push me off a building would you?"_

 _"What, love? Of course I wouldn't whether or not you'll be mad at me. I want you to be happy not permanently end it, you know?"_

 _He laughed. "Ha. I know," his face was serious again, his brows furrowed too. "But what if I ask someone else, Dan?_ _"_ _]_

 _"Tell me when, tell me when you finally can, can remember my pink lips and brown hair,_

 _Tell me when, tell me when you finally rea-lize that your ebony hair is whaaaaat_ ," I sang, I paused for the effect as my drummer, Harris, played two beats.

 _"I MISSED!"_ I piped, my fingers moving in sync with the beat.

There were tears now, though to the crowd, it was just sweat.

 _["Hey, looove," I stretched my words._

 _He chuckled, "Yeah, Dan?"_

 _"Quick question," I uttered looking up at the morning blue. "Don't you think laughing is useless, I mean, it's like fucking temporary, like..."_

 _I struggled to find the word, but you knew the answer, didn't you?_

 _"Love?" You finished. It wasn't a question; I'm quite certain, rather, it was a statement I was petrified of._

 _But you crashed your lips again with mine anyway as we silently dismissed my outburst and your heart-impaling reply.]_

" _The beats started to play,_

 _But your heart did the opposite_ ," I sang slower, my eyes closed, feeling the emotions brew. Energy soared through my body, relief washing over me. " _As our steamy breaths replaced slurs,_

 _Just like how we've replaced each other,_

 _Oh, Oh, Oh,_

 _Keep the melody and my identity,_

 _I'm just another petty poet, frankly_."

My band started to play their parts, Peej was playing the bass with his tender fingers, Harris was doing what he did best and Chris the other guitarist began to play another set of notes to make our whole composition come to life. But out of all of them, I was the most emotionally affected, my head banging to the beat as my clammy purple-dyed hair drifted down onto my face.

"Thank you everyone, for coming today!" I screamed into the microphone, once our last song for the night came to an end.

"We've got special news though," Peej said, a tint of sadness in his voice.

"We- we really don't mean to make you guys miserable once again," Harris piped in.

"Because for... Fuck's sake-" I groaned.

"We're breaking up, lads," Chris finished.

We promised we wouldn't cry after our last song, _Remaining Regards_ , but we did. Our tears were in sync with the crowd as wails of dread filled the basement. I plastered on a fake smile onto my face, knowing my chocolate-colored eyes and dilated pupils had another fable.

"We, really, really, love you guys but..." I piped in, my voice was quite muffled due to the tears that pretty much showed terror and pain yet was filled with relief.

"We just think, it... Time, it's time to have a break," Chris said, he was the least teary.

"A hiatus," Harris added.

Everyone was raising up their hands now, their index and middle fingers crossed; the sign of our band. In our first concert we did the oh-so-iconic gesture as to portray that luck is everywhere and that "we should keep it as near as much to ourselves" and "it will always exist as long as we're here, filling up your empty holes". How ironic, after 3 years, at the very last concert of Midnight Currency, they break up.

"Should we sing one last song for our mates?" I said, with a grin, looking at my band members and at the crowd we had managed to attract with what they called "heavenly" music.

Harris, Chris and Peej nodded at me, a silent agreement taking place. I looked back at the crowd, smiled and wiped my tears away hoping to make the end of our band nice and sweet.

It was a no-brainer which song to sing. It was our fans favorite song that was barely sung in concerts and had brought them to tears; Matters With Oxygen. It was also dedicated to the one I still fucking fancy.

"Matters With Oxygen?" I screamed.

"MATTERS WITH OXYGEN!" They howled back.

It's been a year after the break-up both romantically and my band. We felt like we were betraying Harris if we continued the band, so we ended it. There was no point with Harris being miles away in Michigan while we continued our band back in London.

I looked out the window, hoping a rainbow wasn't in sight, as Lord knows what the hell would happen to this barely-blessed city. It was break time at work and I stayed in the staff room as usual as the other staff thought that they were "too cool" and that "cool kids stayed out, morning or night". I shook my head at the thought of the other immature staff.

And, coincidentally, all the staff started to crowd the room. I immediately stood up, wanting a reason from the little mates. This was unnatural. Had they grown out of their naïve ways? Or maybe they weren't the staff at all, maybe they were the kids from my school that somehow found out I worked in a floral workshop.

I looked at the kids that managed to swarm the room and seem indifferent to the fact that everyone was basically squished together. We could have more goddamn space only if they could stop bringing their phones out of their pockets and actually looked around.

I calmly sat back down into my seat, somehow managing to have some space to push my chair in. A few sighs and looks around, I plopped in my earphones and began to play Infinite On High, my feat clearly tapping to the drums in the background while my lips mouthed the lyrics of Bang The Doldrums.

Within seconds I was into the song and the, dare I say, magic of music began to wove a perfect galaxy just for me and my absurd, frantic thoughts.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, deciding to turn a blind eye to it as I assumed that it was just one of the staff accidentally brushing me and was either "to rad to say sorry" or "too awkward to decide whether or not to say sorry". I'd be saving time for both of us, anyway. But I was wrong, whoa, whoa.

Long story cut short, I almost got fired.

The manager's face was inches from mine, and _boy_ was it clear she was enraged. Her eyes were droopy as if she was bored and so "done" with my actions, then her eyebrows came to the picture and all of a sudden it all came crashing down upon me that I could be fired at any moment now and that I evidently didn't want that as it was hard finding a job that accepted a guy with an eyebrow piercing and a dragon tattoo on his neck. If I lost this job, I would be back in my parent's house (which, frankly wasn't such a bad idea since they're such lovelies) since I can't pay off my rent or I was going to be stuck sleeping on goddamn benches 'till my temporary tattoo fades away.

But, no, I was fucking Dan Howell, and I sat there. I lit-tra-lee sat there, transfixed albeit I knew what the heck the issue was at the moment. I quickly looked away, I could feel the drops begin painting my face as I looked around the room, my eyes began to travel around- anything to dismiss the intimidating eyes of the clearly mad manager. Then- then there, just right next to the manager.

My heart tightened, my body tensed. My eyes were wide in both shock and dread. I was shaking now, my stomach did a somersault as it looked into another pair of eccentric and intrigued blue with a tint of green eyes.

I stood up, ignoring the grunt of the manager as he realized I was in no mood to talk to him. I took of my earphones as I walked in careful, dainty steps toward the boy. My heart was racing- beating fast like before, my veins were filled with delirium as my feet began to cover up the space that separated us two. I could feel the blood pounding in all of my body parts as more and more thoughts started to feed me with hungry assumptions and anger. Dread and relief.

When I was close enough to the inky black hair of his I switched from the former galaxy I was in was gone to being left behind with a new ripe and fresh universe with the boy who I have fancied for Lord knows how long. That didn't matter. I was going to make this count.

I took his hands in mine as I felt a physical locking in my throat as I began to structure just the name that began it all and ended it all. And the name that didn't leave my overthinking mind as much as I wanted to; to make me move on to the brutality of reality.

My eyes began to pace through the features I missed of him, his pupils were delated, forehead drenched in sweat and in that majestic face of his; I could see a slight grin plastered onto his face. Was he really?

With all the breath I could put together, I quietly and rigorously uttered, "Is it really you, I-Is it really you,"

I fell to my knees as I began to create fantasies in my head on how good my future years will become now that he has arrived, and certainly mine.

"It's really you," I repeated, a silly simper on my face. "Phil. Phil Lester. My Phil."

 **Dan Howell- 1694**

 **1\\\Say Your Prayers**

I don't look at red roses and beam, saying, " _Oh, what a lovely flower you are, let me stare at your majestic petals and forget about your color_." Red roses may be silent but how do people forget that silence is violence. It gives space to thought and it gives space for people to barge in and fill you up with their own negativity without warning.

And the color. It reminds me of blood. It reminded me the day I heard the gunshot coming from the his room- shit! Shit. Shit! Why did I ever leave him alone, all alone in his room? I left him with silence- and with a goddamn gun. Ha. A gun. Where did that item even come from? How did he even have one? And why, why wasn't I there for him? Why the fuck wasn't I? Why did I stay in the kitchen, with his mum, helping out; helping out the wrong person and doing the wrong thing? I could've been there just 5 seconds away from the phenomenon and he could still be here, smiling and his eyes crinkling at the sides as if his smile wasn't enough to show his joviality.

Ironic, it was, though. Despite my hatred towards the flower, I couldn't deny the fact that It was his favorite. Who knows; he might've chosen it because he had already been planning his death. And here I was, clutching his favorite flower; a red rose. It might as well be made out of the red ooze coming from the hole the gun shot had made through Phil's head. I also couldn't deny that he was long gone.

But he was like an itch. It's a weird comparison but... He was my itch. The more I thought of him, the more it triggered other feelings; and it made me want to see him again. Even if he could be alive just for a few seconds. We could have had enough time to exchange our "I love you"s and I could've told him that no matter what -dead or alive- he would have a special place in my heart. Although, I'm a bit glad we didn't promise as it was bound to be broken anyway with a heart like mine. I could barely keep it; that special place... It was getting more hollow as the days passed with me looking through old photographs we had taken... Back when he was alive. And secretly unwell or specifically, suicidal.

 _["Rain, rain, le-eeeet it drop," Phil sang, popping the "p" as he ended._

 _He was jumping on the puddles that the uncalled-for typhoon brought along. His jumping led to me getting slightly splattered by his childishness._

 _I chuckled, joining the fun. "Rain, rain, raaaa-iiin!"_

 _"As it drops, we start to notice, Oh! Oh!" Phil sang loudly twisting in circles at the same spot. His eyes wide open, giving the advantage for little droplets to fall in to them. He looked at me, frowned then put on a weak smile._

 _"As it drops... W-e...we start to notice... OH! OH!" Phil was screaming now. The droplets on his face were either the rain or his tears that I had clearly unacknowledged._

 _He paused. Then ended the song differently, "As we notice that I won't be around for long._ _"_ _]_

His tombstone was at area 65, nearly the highest peak of this mountain and packed cemetery, and if frankly, if it was for Phil... I'd... Do anything for him including visiting his unnecessarily at-the-top tombstone.

It was always cloudy at the graveyard, perhaps it was because of all the tears anyone has shed being evaporated into the air. Not that I'd know. Or maybe it was raining. Well, it is because it _was_ raining. But barely anyone pays attention to the brutal reality as they carry on with their lives trying to be finished with school and start becoming adults. Then trying to finish work and retire. We all want to be engulfed in a different story, we don't want to feel the pain ourselves- the pressure would be too much. And to an extent, maybe, just maybe we were all the same, walking corpses with no emotions whatsoever. Because that's what I am. Only worse.

You also have to take account of the people who plan their days and their future though. They expect life to be a goddamn straight line just because they've planned out the board game already and have written down every possible obstacle and what they could do about it. I'm not denying it's a good idea, but having your whole life already out there- you're just semi-automatic. The only thing that stops you from being a dead soul and flying an auto-pilot plane is because you've planned it and you let it happen. It feels like, after so many years of not being able to be sophisticated and organized, you've finally got your shit together. But it's a fucking game- and I'm afraid you can't control the dice, lad.

All that comes is regret. It's a guarantee.

And I've learnt my lesson, God, okay. I've has these saying nearly everyday to myself and I can promise you that my middle finger was always ready for the occasion unless I wasn't up to simply stretching out my fingers.

I was wearing Phil's T-shirt. It was one of his galaxy t-shirts. I was also wearing his black skinny jeans. I've always thought my sizes for clothes were bigger but out turned out that Phil and I were practically the same size in comparison. I didn't have a coherent explanation behind the reason why I was up to wearing Phil's attire. It was better than clothes for mourning though, that was a point.

Black was my favorite color, it didn't seem right anymore though; to wear black everyday. I've gotten a few teachers, who haven't even talked to me, telling me that I should move on from Phil. I had asked them how'd they had come to that conclusion. And most replied with, "Dan, we're not blind. We can clearly see that you have been wearing black T-shirts since he's died." or something of the sort. But some shrugged and continued where they left on- probably going to find another "lost soul" to pity.

My feet were starting to get tired, the horrid and painful sensation made your feet feel heavier than normal and you feel a slight ache spreading. I might as well go full-on cliché and say, "Just like my impaled, weak, able-to-be-pitied heart.". And I would. If only I was the same person I was. If only Phil could somehow find a way to become my physical love all over again.

 _["Yo," Phil said, mimicking the way Japanese people said it._

 _"What, Phil?" I laughed._

 _"I just finished Death Note...you've got any idea why the owner can't write their own name?" He questioned._

 _I furrowed my eyebrows, turned off my phone and decided to keep looking at the black screen that reflected Phil from behind me. "What are you trying to get to, Phil?"_

 _He hummed,_ _"_ _Nothing."]_

As I kept walking up the steep mountain I searched for both the sun and a sign that told me I was finally at Area 65. As much as I wanted the beat of my footsteps meeting with the floor to distract me, my mind just couldn't cope without imagining his dyed black hair and... Those blue eyes that I had permission to look into. His hands were thin, long- "piano fingers" as he called it.

I smiled at the thought of Phil and his unusual characteristics and I thought of his death. Surely he didn't mean to kill himself... Perhaps this was a sick dream and I can't find a way to get out of it? Perhaps _I_ was the one that's dead, wanting Phil to be with me too?

I stood in front of his snow covered tombstone, it had stopped snowing quite a long time ago, yet no one bothered to just push away the black-as-soot snow that laid on top of it.

I kneeled in front of his tombstone, Phil's black jeans earning some snow. I put down his favorite flower onto his grave. I looked down, frightened that this really was Phil whose corpse was entrapped into a coffin. I was frightened that Phil was mad at me- for not noticing how miserable his life was.

"Jesus Christ, Phil," I muttered playfully. I was imagining that he was sitting on top of his grave. I imagined him grinning to how he made the right decision. I imagined him looking at me with disbelief as he realized he left me behind with nothing. Not a fucking note, not a fucking anything. "How did we end up here, Lester? I-I know you're gone for good and I know that you probably don't even want to talk to your petty boyfriend... Ex-boyfriend but... I. I. I hope you are delighted now and I hope that the fact you di- I mean, I hope you don't regret,"

"What you did," My voice grew quiet as I waited for more tears. "I-I love you, Phil."

By this time, I decided to give up and just stop, knowing this wasn't going to make any difference. Phil. Was. Dead. And that was it.

I curled up on the floor, no energy to walk back home with the sorrow weighing me down.

I slept there then, in the cold snow. And just like that, I cried myself to sleep as I was left alone with Phil's dead body.

"You can't just do this Howell, you silly boy," I heard someone say, a sigh next. "Guess I'll just have to carry you home."

I felt gentle, thin and long fingers find their way under me as I was lifted up from the snow. I felt little movement as I slept in a stranger's arms, not bothering to see who it was.

"Piano fingers," He had said.

Phil Lester

2/How Many Insanities Do I Have?

"This could be the future, Hank," I heard a chirpy and ecstatic deep voice say in a hushed tone. It managed to echo around the room, making his words come around before dissolving into quiet air.

The other person sitting beside him, who seemed to be called Hank, chuckled in disguised delight. "We're either geniuses or madmen, you know?"

I stopped listening to their conversation, knowing it probably didn't have to do anything with me and my condition. As they became something I could no longer understand clearly, I looked at my surroundings trying to place a name for it; hospital was what I was hoping for, honestly. When I decided dark walls and curtain-covered windows couldn't give out any information to me, I decided to feel around instead.

My hands clenched a soft fabric and my head felt something under it. I couldn't pinpoint it at first but soon realized that I was on a bed. With the sickening feeling of stupidity, I lifted up my hands to the light of the lamp the people who have taken me into their custody have provided me. I turned my hands around, not really aiming at doing anything at all.

I was trying to stretch when my fingers and got tangled into some short wires that hung onto the ceiling; they seemed misplaced as if they were just taped onto it at the very last minute, posing as decoration. A few had some sort of thing that I couldn't really identify with its fuzzy feeling and hard texture. As much as I want to say it really didn't matter as it won't affect me in any way, it was far from intolerable. The fuzzy sort acted as hooks that clung to the skin of my hands, somehow managing to making my hands stuck. I started fiddling, moving in every way I could think of, the outcome was plain nothing. This movement caught the attention of the two however.

The hushed voices that seemed to fill the room with unnoticeable yet...present music ended their conversation, sound returning as I heard metal creaking against the floor and some shuffling.

"He's awake, Jesus, Oh bless," The man who was talking to "Hank" had his face looking down at me as I laid there awkwardly not really knowing what to make of this situation. After his eyes squinting in both confusion and observation, they lit up as he held his clenched fists up, a grin plastered onto his face as he looked at the other man. "You know what that means!"

"That we can get married now?" I saw Hank say, his eyebrows doing a little suggestive dance.

"Shhh," The other replied, head shaking yet a bigger grin daring to escape. "Not now, Hank,"

Hank put a hand on top of his heart- or at least where his heart was. "If not now, when?" Hank said, his voice filled with mock and drama.

Other-man hummed and rolled his eyes, then returning his eyes back to Hank and gave him a grave look. "Shh, you know what this means, right?"

Silence replaced unspoken words as they looked at me with my hands still stuck to the wires. I created with movement with my hands again until, Hank, the one with grey hair and pitch black eyes, looked at my hands and chuckled quietly in slight shame. While the other one; Edmund, was in a trance, Hank took out a pair of scissors from his back pocket cutting the wires. My hands fell without my control as I busied myself with the continuos thudding steps that were starting to get closer.

I laid there awkwardly, not quite sure if I should burst the tension or if I should just stay quiet as the noise started to daunt me. Hopefully a murderer didn't manage to come in.

"Of course I know, Hank," Edmund finally replied, his eyes were staring at Hank's lips, then to his eyes, searching for an answer too.

"Should we te-"

However before "Edmund" could continue his sentence, the door to this room burst open.

And it revealed a person who looked a little too much...

Like me.

•

"Holy apricot," The few words were past my lips despite my consent and so was my uncalled-for surprise. The aching pain from the wires seemed to be pushed away from my thoughts as I looked at a breathing duplicate of me.

I looked at the two, let's call them doctors, doctors as they seemed to have frozen too due to the human as well. I looked up at Hank and saw another grin that showed pride. And if you paid attention to Edmund more, you'd see his fingers moving, fidgeting and everything as if he couldn't keep whatever emotion in his heart suppressed.

"The creation of a sudden oppression / The death of a half / Though all seems fine / It's better to ignore that laugh," Edmund said, his fingers were moving more and you could hear the mild sounds of his feet clashing against the floor.

"Ed, new poem, I presume?" Hank looked worried and uncertain in both his words and Edmund.

The next thing we knew, however, the look-alike started running to me- then changed its course; facing the machines at the corner of the other side that I had failed to observe and notice. His lips were in a tight line, but the ends his lips would sometimes lift up, though it only lasted for mere seconds. But a grin, didn't.

It lasted while we looked scared looking at a human that shared many traits with me. The grin lasted like my confusion. It lasted while it showed its instability to us as he began to hit the machine with power, his hands were clenched like they were when I was furious with life, though he probably knew what he was doing. Or what it was doing.

I was starting to get dizzy, drowsy even. I felt my body go light as I looked down to my bare body, only with my sonic boxers on. It was everywhere, wires connected to my chest, stomach, legs and my feet. A cerulean blue was starting to leave its transparent tubes and some with red.

"Fuck, fuck, holy shit," Panic.

"The wires, if- if he keeps, keeps trying to take it down, Ed, Ed, Ed, it's gonna b-break, Edmund, can you even hear me?" Death.

"I know, I'm not blind," Silence.

"What are you doing standing there then, help me out, Ed," Geniuses... Or...

"Oh, Jesus, no, we can't stop the other guy, Hank,"

Madmen.


End file.
